Miserable at Best
by The Accident-Prone Klutz
Summary: "Do you want this to stop, Namine?"... "This is the last time."...And yet, they'd both find themselves in the same position the next night. ONE-SHOT  AU Songfic: RokuNami, Namixas


**This is a little different than what I normally write, more sexual I guess, even if it doesn't really _show_ anything bad. It's just implied. You have no idea how much I want to continue it -_-' I have a whole plot line in my head...but alas, it's merely a one-shot. The song's 'Miserable at Best' by Mayday Parade.  
**

**Enjoy :D**

**I don't own KH or Mayday Parade so don't sue T_T**

x.X.x  
_Ocala is calling and you know it's haunting_  
_But compared to your eyes, nothing shines quite as bright_  
_And when we look to the sky, its not mine, but i want it so_

_x.X.x  
_

He watched as she slid to the edge of the bed, her bare pale back glowing in the morning sun as her golden hair fell in wavy tresses down her smooth back. He resisted the urge to run his hand down her spine, invitingly. She wouldn't like that. Once she was out of the bed, she'd put on the same mask that would hide the dirty secret she kept from the rest of the world. That's it, that's exactly what he was, her dirty little secret.

He had to admit that that term pleased him, but it didn't fill that empty void he'd feel in his chest, when she'd leave and pretend there was nothing between them at school. When she'd tried to glance at him indifferently, as if he were just another ordinary person. When she'd put on that forced smile at the sight of seeing her boyfriend. _Huh boyfriend?_ _Where was he now?_

Roxas had to hold back a satisfied chuckle, as she turned slightly to retrieve her clothes on the floor, revealing the side of her pale body. Where was that bastard now? Oh that's right he was out screwing _his_ girlfriend. What a twisted turn of fate.

After she finally slid on her last article of clothing- the tight jeans that got him into this mess all over again- she turned to look at him. Her expression was hard, and her lips were pressed into a firm line. Her blue eyes darted between his own. He found himself mesmerized by them immediately. The first time he looked into them it didn't make sense; they were just ordinary blue eyes. But something in that never ending depth of blue reminded him of sea salt ice cream. Salty when you first taste it, but with an entirely sweet aftertaste.

She cleared her throat, and blinked abruptly.

"This is the last time," She said quietly, breaking the peaceful silence.

"You said that two nights ago," He replied, sitting up. He caught her eyes quickly roam over his bare chest before pulling away. He couldn't help but grin slightly at this.

"I know." She mumbled, but it sounded like she was telling that to herself. He reached upward to stroke her cheek. She flinched away, clearing her throat again and standing up stiffly. "I know, Roxas. But it's getting harder to keep this up."

He pulled his eyebrows together, feeling his lips falling into a frown. He couldn't disagree with her there. People were beginning to get suspicious.

She looked around for her purse, finding it thrown lazily on the computer chair. She walked over to grab it, putting the strap over her shoulder. He watched her every move as if she were going to disappear suddenly, which would happen later though not quite as literally. His eyes followed her as she crossed to the bedroom window. It was still open from last night. She paused at the window sill, looking over her shoulder at him expectantly.

"Do you want this to stop, Namine?" He asked her seriously. Her head bowed and she fumbled with the end of her shirt.

"This is the last time," She repeated firmly, before putting one leg over the window sill. She flashed him a brief smile, sliding out the window.

This was their ritual for the past month. The kissing, the rolling around in his bedroom sheets, the waking up in the early hours of the morning, her jumping out of his bedroom window the next morning, and the meeting of one another a few hours later at school. Same routine, but it was no way repetitive in feeling. He would find himself slowly falling harder and harder in love with her. Almost every night he'd forget about all the problems with it; forget that she had a boyfriend or that he, _himself_, had a girlfriend. For a moment he would feel complete bliss with his arms around her. But what more could he do besides imagine? She didn't belong to him.

Though their nights together would make him feel as if she belonged to him, the reality would soon hit. She sure as hell didn't belong to _him_ either.

The moment she was at the window, and would flash him that pained smile, before climbing out every morning, his sense of wholeness would shatter. And he'd go to school, pretend nothing was wrong, and kiss his girlfriend wishing it was _her_ lips moving against his. And when he would see _her_ coming with _her_ boyfriend with _his_ arms around _her,_ pressing _his_ filthy lips against _her_ cheek, he knew despite the charade he'd play on the outside, inside he was miserable at best.


End file.
